


For Fox Sake

by Backwardshirt



Series: Finding Folklore [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: After TTYBW, Developing Relationship, GrimmIchi - Freeform, Grimmjow in a gigai, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Kiskue that's not what kido is for, Kitsune, Licking, M/M, Mutual Pining, drugged fog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28845648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Backwardshirt/pseuds/Backwardshirt
Summary: Ichigo and Grimmjow return to the shoten, Urahara waiting for them. Unfortunately he and Yoruichi have...helped their bodies into a more comfortable position on the bed. It's the little things, really, that make Urahara a dirty old man. Regardless, Ichigo is forced to stay the night, and in the morning he has to set off for a mountain with Grimmjow to find yet another creature.At least this time, they're finding one on purpose, but why does Ichigo's head feel so funny?
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Finding Folklore [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083188
Comments: 4
Kudos: 113





	For Fox Sake

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably mostly understandable without reading the first story in the series, 'Kappa Again?', but I could also be wrong. It's probably just as ridiculous though, which is always fun!

“Are you sure that’s a wise thing to do Kiskue?”

Yoruichi twisted purple hair between her long slender fingers, leaning against the doorway like a silk curtain. She peaked out into the hallway once before pushing off the archway, eyeing the door she’d picked the lock of not two minutes before. If she actually cared one way or another, her voice didn’t give it away—she sounded more amused than anything.

“Of course not, but I do need to look at the gigai’s arms,” he said, shuffling around Grimmjow’s gigai like a sack of rocks, dragging him across the floor, _why did I make it so heavy,_ before flopping in on the bed, right on top of his favorite substitute Shinigami. That status may change later, however; especially once dear Ichigo saw his newest handy-work. _Can’t be helped, I’m afraid. It’s best for the both of them._ Worst case scenario, he could pin the deed on Yoruichi.

“And since I’m over 100, I don’t want to put my back out doing it.” Rearranging the arrancar’s fake body around on the bed, he tried to settle it more comfortably around Ichigo’s body. The gigai fell around the other body much like fine linen didn’t. The position, an arm jutting out at an uncomfortable angle, legs crossed weirdly, was far from comfortable, but he’d pretend for now and set to working up a small healing kidou. _Honestly Grimmjow, you really did a number on the arms._

Since he wasn’t _in_ the gigai, blood had ceased moving, but thick, angry red lines stretched all along both forearms, the not-crow’s talons sinking fairly deep within the fake flesh. Luckily healing kidou, and any kind of kido worked on gigai, he made sure of that. Especially since Grimmjow usually forgot it didn’t have any hierro and its skin was normal, human(ish) skin. _Suck on those sticks, Mayuri._

“Besides, this has about an 83% chance of things working out in my favor.”

“And 110% chance of them trying to murder you in your sleep,” Yoruichi said, pushing off the door like any wiry cat.

“Well, that’s just part of the fun,” Kiskue said with a grin.

“Besides, they can’t catch me.” It was true, Ichigo was always too straightforward with his attacks, and while Grimmjow was sneakier, he’d trained far too much with his own cat to not know what the blue-haired arrancar was going to do next.

“If you want someone to chase you around, I’m always more than happy to do it.” She said next to him, wiggling her eyebrows for effect.

Kiskue laughed, settling the healing kidou around the gigai’s arms and waited. As the seconds ticked by, the wounds closed, until only faded pink lines remained. He stopped the healing—Grimmjow liked scars well enough he wouldn’t mind a few more, at least in his gigai, though if he wasn’t careful, Kiskue would transfer them onto his real body for the hell of it as well. He could do it with a little bit of tinkering. 

Sighing, Kiskue looked to Yoruichi who had all but laid down on the bed, elbowing both empty bodies out of her way, scrunching them painfully closer together. The gigai was kneeing Ichigo’s body in his groin.

“I’m afraid I’m going to be getting chased around soon anyway. That crow wasn’t happy at all; I’m sure I’ll be receiving a very…unpleasant message.”

“Well, they do say if a bird shits on you, it’s good luck.”

“For the bird maybe,” he said, turning around and sitting on the bed as well, near her feet. She threw a small pouch at him and settled her arm back under her head.

“This was at the messenger stone,” she said, voice low, like she was afraid the bodies on the bed would hear and report back to their masters. Turning it over in his hand, Kiskue saw the kanji for air stamped on it. That poor crow may want it back after the earlier fiasco.

“Ah~~ Good, good.”

“He’s quite good at sensing the spirits. It may prove useful,” Yoruichi said, as he began to unravel the pouch. He stopped and sighed deeply, a crease forming in his brown, under his hat.

“The implication of the words, Grimmjow and useful, together, in the same sentence, bring me physical pain, Yoruichi.”

She laughed lightly and turned her attention to the bodies on the bed, kicking the gigai once lightly to see how easily it could be moved. Clicking her tongue, she shook her head and stood from the bed.

“This won’t do…” she muttered as she grabbed a rouge arm.

Watching her, already beginning to shift their bodies around, moving their legs closer together, pulling one of the gigai’s over Ichigo’s, Kiskue laughed. “They’ll need a woman’s touch, I’m afraid, for them to look any more comfortable.” Yoruichi grabbed the knee out of his poor nether regions, though, by the way Ichigo and Grimmjow bickered, it would be quite a while before that area was even needed.

Unless of course, they got a little…help.

“Pfff they’ll have to settle for me instead.”

\--------------------

Ichigo didn’t know what he was looking at, not really, and even if he _did_ know, he wouldn’t believe it. He turned around—if he couldn’t see it, it wasn’t real. It didn’t matter that Grimmjow’s gigai was on the bed, right next to his own, instead of in a heap on the floor right where he had left it, bodies intertwined together like the headphones in his left pocket right now.

_I know I locked the door._

**Oh please, getting past a lock is child’s play.**

_You’re not helping._

And White was being a dick, but that was usually normal, at least when he decided to grace Ichigo with his foreboding, annoying presence.

The legs on the bed were tangled together, Ichigo’s lacing between Grimmjow’s like finely done macramé or whatever that shit was that Orihime showed him one time. She made him try it once and it _sucked_. It was just _knots_ why was it so _hard._ He was studying to be a doctor but couldn’t do some fancy-ass knots? What was that all about? Stitches were one thing—they were functional. Knots for the sake of looking _pretty_ could die in a tire fire as far as he was concerned. 

One of Grimmjow’s arms was threaded under Ichigo’s body, pulling their chests flush together, faces embarrassingly close. Sure, they’d kissed earlier, at the behest of a pervy Kappa who was going to apparently eat their livers, _did Grimmjow have a liver? How did arrancar bodies work, anyway_ —Ichigo was going to murder Urahara in his sleep for that one—but having their faces _that_ close together for longer than a half a second was way too intimate. 

Discreetly as he could with his red face, Ichigo dared to glance over at Grimmjow, who looked annoyed more than anything.

“Damnit Yoruichi,” Grimmjow muttered, sighing, like rearranging his gigai into a half pretzel was something she did often.

_Wait, did she?_

**Why, you jealous, King?**

_Can’t you bother the old guy? Wake him up or something._

**Touchy, touchy. That hurts, King.**

_I have a name you know. You don’t have to call me ‘King’ every time._

**I do what I want. _King._**

_Don’t I know it._

Trying to ignore his other half cackling into his consciousness, having finished whatever half-assed lobotomy he’d probably tried to do earlier at some swept away, barely used part of his brain, Ichigo stepped towards the bed. He needed to try and untangle their bodies into something that was…less embarrassing. At least they were both clothed.

Grabbing ahold of gigai Grimmjow’s hand splayed on his back, Ichigo flinched when a bright yellow light erupted around the gigai’s wrist; a small electric shock shot through his fingertips and palm, where he’d touched him, and he stepped back, shaking out his hand. _What the hell?_ Grimmjow growled behind him, an irritated, exhausted sound.

“Damn that bitch,” he snarled beside Ichigo, eyes narrowed on the glowing cuff around his gigai’s wrist, traveling down his arm. Glancing to his human body, he noticed one of his own wrists had the same, glowing yellow cuff wrapped around, the band connecting to somewhere underneath, presumably, linking the two together.

“I told you to cut that shit out!” Grimmjow had turned and yelled out the doorway; Ichigo assumed at Yoruichi.

The immediate reply was cackling somewhere else in the house, loud and obnoxious, like they somehow deserved it. _Grimmjow sure, but why me?_ At least he didn’t leave his body in a puddle on the floor, or bring a wild animal into a candy shop of all places. Not that anyone else cared about that, apparently. 

“Consider it punishment for bringing a feathered beast into my shop~” Kiskue called out from the same location as Yoruichi, probably. Ichigo didn’t even _want_ to know what those two were up to currently.

“You should know better than to listen to me by now, Grimmjow!” That was Yoruichi again, laying the blame solely on the irritated arrancar. “I told the you pigeon would’ve been a better choice!”

Ichigo watched Grimmjow’s eye twitch at the ‘I told you so’ and opened his big, fangy mouth with a retort—a rude one, if the middle finger raised at the door was anything to go by. 

“Will you shut up already and tell me what she did?” Ichigo said, irritated and cutting him off before he could even get started. Priorities. He needed to get home, and there was no way in _hell_ he was bringing the arrancar into a house with his sisters present. Knowing his luck, they’d all buddy up and gang up on him, and he didn’t want to be bullied in his own home.

Grimmjow closed his maw briefly to shoot a seething glare at him, eye twitching one more time. 

“Well which is it then, shut up or tell you? Can’t do both Kurosaki,” he said with a sneer. Walking back over to the bed, he glared at the two forms tangled together. Ichigo rolled his eyes and walked to the door frame, closing it softly behind him, and locking the apparently easily pickable lock, for whatever miniscule amount of comfort that gave him. Baseline was zero, but at least it wasn’t in the negatives…yet. 

Ichigo rubbed his eyes as Grimmjow was messing with the cuff on his gigai, pulling at it roughly. _Why do you have to make everything difficult?_

“It’s part of my charm,” came the biting response, cold and irritated, not bothering to look at him. Ichigo sighed. Once again, his mouth said stuff without asking for permission first, thoughts just rolling on out like logs down a big dumb river.

“Just tell me what it is…please.” Ichigo added the please, hoping that would make up for enough of the weird shit that was going on. First dogs, then salamander turned not-salamander, now this, bodies bound together in what basically looked like spirit handcuffs, linking their wrists together. He needed a vacation. Maybe the mountains would be nice and absent of all life; if nothing else he could just cover himself in leaves and dirt and hope no one found him for like a week. _I could say I’m meditating. Finding myself. Losing myself. Anything for some peace and quiet and away from Urahara’s bastard schemes._

“Some shitty Shinigami binding spell,” he grumbled out, frowning at the sizzling light between their unoccupied bodies, growling as he yanked at the light on his wrist one more time. 

“And Kiskue’s done this once before?”

“Twice before I figured out how to break it.”

“Well that’s good at least—”

“Unless you want me to hack your arm from your shoulder, it ain’t. Not that I’d mind,” he said, grinning ferally at Ichigo, taking a step closer, letting the gigai arm drop back down on Ichigo’s face like a weird, dead, form of…affection. Ichigo grimaced at the sight.

_Well, at least that kiss didn’t mean anything._

**Aw, tell me how ya really feel, King.**

_Where’s the old man? If someone’s gonna talk to me about this, I’d rather it be him._

**He’s taking a nap right now, King. Needs his beauty sleep.**

_Bullshit. He just needs to shave._

**I’ll tell him you said that.**

_You do that, jackass._

Maybe Ichigo wouldn’t give Urahara the earth-pouch-thing the water spirit had given them earlier, since he was apparently hell-bent on ruining his life and weekend. The body wrangling thing had Yoruichi writing all over it in black, furry writing. Didn’t she have any other hobbies other than making his life more difficult and goading Grimmjow into grabbing weird animals? Maybe he should tell Orihime to give _her_ a macrame lesson. If nothing else, maybe she’d play with the string.

“Let’s get this shit over with.”

“Huh?” Ichigo asked, getting knocked from his thoughts with a sledgehammer of a statement. Get what over with? Was Grimmjow really going to rip off his human body’s arm? No!

Grimmjow sneered at him like he was the biggest idiot in the room before he grabbed at his gigai’s arm once more, and began to merge with it, body glowing softly with white-blue reiryoku.

“Hey—wait you ass—”

“Hurry up then, I ain’t waitin’ on your slow ass—”

“Fine!” Ichigo ground out, pressed a hand to his body and merging at the same time as Grimmjow, feeling a small wash of vertigo as everything was scrambled for a bleated moment. _I wonder if Grimmjow gets the same feeling._

He kept his eyes closed for an instant, feeling the sizzling band of energy around his left wrist sputtering and crackling, like a band of fire. It wasn’t hot, even though it felt like pure energy encircling his wrist. He could follow the energy line connecting to Grimmjow’s wrist at his back. Hot breath blew on his face and Ichigo cracked his eyes open, meeting a blue-glare from the arrancar.

From this close he could see the different blues in his eyes, sapphire, teal, aqua, cerulean, even a little darker, like navy shone from his narrowed gaze in a dazzling cocktail of hues. He could honestly stare at his eyes forever, but damned if he’d tell that idiot. The estigma under his eyes further enhanced the different shades swirling around in his twitchy gaze.

Ichigo felt a hand on his chest flex, digging blunt fingernails into his shirt, but he didn’t dare break eye contact—that was a recipe for getting bit. The arm underneath him moved a little, and Ichigo tried to sit up slowly, but his legs were tangled tightly with Grimmjow’s, so he didn’t get very far. Not that it stopped Grimmjow from yanking his arm out from under him anyway—it was much more comfortable—and bring it up to his face for a careful inspection of the kido cuff.

Ichigo could see faint pink lines running the length of his arm as Grimmjow turned his hand around, snarling at the cuff.

“Your arm is healed,” Ichigo said, tracing a line on his arm absently. He stopped when Grimmjow shot a glare at him from a canon of a gaze.

“Tch. Left the scars on purpose, the prick.”

Other than his hand, Grimmjow hadn’t bothered moving, the hand was still twisted in his shirt, at the center of his chest; this close Ichigo could smell him as well. Ichigo could’ve sworn he had a slight amount of cologne on, judging by the smell. Sandalwood, maybe? Something clean and lightly fragrant. Whatever it was, it suited him, and Ichigo had to consciously try to not inhale it like a creep.

“Are you wearing cologne?” He couldn’t help but ask—it was dumb, but he really, _really_ , wanted to know, for some reason. Grimmjow doing _human_ things was almost endearing. Ichigo never wore any himself, unless he was going out, which, by how the last five years had gone, was…never.

“What’s that?” Grimmjow was propping his head up by his cuffed hand. The kido linking them together must be fairly flexible if they had that much leeway. His face was scowly, but his face was always scowly, so that didn’t mean much. He didn’t sound pissed, at least. Just curious. Ichigo tried to ignore that he wasn’t even trying to get their legs untangled. That was a problem for a little later.

“It’s like a scented liquid you can spray on your body.”

Grimmjow’s eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“I thought that was you.”

“What?”

“I thought you were the one smelling weird.”

“Ah,” Ichigo brought his wrist to his nose and inhaled. He couldn’t tell, really. How did he not notice the smell earlier? It was stronger now, nice, but strong. Not buring the inside of his nose-strong, but it was obvious _someone_ was wearing _something._ With Grimmjow being in his actual body earlier, Ichigo was even more surprised he hadn’t noticed, with how sensitive he was with it sometimes.

“I can’t really tell anymore, to be honest.”

Grimmjow grunted pulled him closer with the hand still fisted in his shirt, until Ichigo’s face was pressed into his shoulder. His hands were on his chest, pushing away, until he heard Grimmjow take a long inhale right by his jugular, breath puffing across his neck, and he froze.

While Grimmjow was pre-occupied inhaling him, apparently, Ichigo took the opportunity to do the same, just a little more…discreetly. He didn’t take in quite as big of a breath as the arrancar, and he didn’t try to blow any exhaled breath right at exposed skin.

Grimmjow _definitely_ had cologne on, or at least, on his shirt, which was just a black T-shirt with Urahara’s logo stamped on the shoulder. The logo being a bad picture of the man with his hat covering his eyes, holding up a peace sign, grinning, _this is definitely a homemade design_ , Ichigo thought, eye twitching. What would he have the guy do next, start twirling a sign outside his shop? Grimmjow would sooner go back to Hueco Mundo than that, probably.

Something warm and wet flicked across his neck, right where his pulse was throbbing, speeding up at the sensation. Ichigo tried not to flinch.

_Oh my god, did he just lick me?_

**And we have a winner!**

_How do you know; you didn’t see anything either._

**I know what being licked feels like, King.**

_There’s a lot to unpack in that statement, but I’m gonna go with no._

It happened again, this time it lasted longer, dragging along muscle until it stopped at the base of his ear. Ichigo could feel his skin heating up at the contact. While he’d kissed a couple people before, he’d certainly never licked, and had _definitely_ not _been_ licked. Grimmjow pulled back, pushing Ichigo back a bit with a scowl on his face, like he didn’t like what he’d tasted. Ichigo couldn’t help but feel disappointed, even if his tongue was still sticking out a little, snarl on his face, like a cat that did not enjoy what it just did.

“It’s on you. Tastes bad.”

Oh.

_So that’s why he licked me? Couldn’t he just…smell it instead?_

“Think they dumped the damn bottle on ya,” Grimmjow continued, fist dropping out of Ichigo’s shirt to grab his own, and swipe it on his tongue. His scowl deepened. Ichigo tried not to laugh as Grimmjow’s face screwed up with the taste of scented, unedible alcohol.

“Yeah, well it’s on you too,” Ichigo said, face less red, he hoped. Grimmjow was still preoccupied with his tongue tasting something gross to notice. “I just didn’t have to lick to find out.”

The arrancar narrowed his gaze a little and flicked it elsewhere quickly. 

“Could’ve—” _What?!_

“Ah, I see you two are getting along much better now,” Kiskue said from the presumably open doorway. If Ichigo could see, Yoruichi would probably be kneeling with a couple silver tools in her hand because privacy didn’t exist in this household, don’t bother asking, thanks. Baseline was definitely negative now. Especially since he cut off whatever the hell Grimmjow was going to say.

Ichigo heard and felt the growl erupting from Grimmjow’s throat, though it was less feral sounding when he was in the gigai.

“Anyway, I believe you have something for me, yes?”

Grimmjow’s legs began to shift, and Ichigo did his part to untangle them and finally sit up, legs dangling off the bed. His neck was still wet, as he shouldered at it, wiping away the dampness, even though Ichigo memorized the feeling for…future references.

The arrancar had moved as well, and was sitting to his left, where their linked hands could stay without pulling too much at the bands. The kido was definitely flexible, but he didn’t want to find out what it would feel like once they met the last bit of the energy connecting the two cuffs, pulling it out to the limit of its reach. Knowing Urahara, it would be unpleasant and kind of tingly; Ichigo decided the shopkeeper could keep those feelings to himself.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ichigo lied, glaring at the shopkeeper with all the frustration he could muster, which, given the situation, was quite a bit. The kappa’s trinket was weighing in his pocket, but he’d need a bit more repentance from the fiend in front of him.

Urahara feigned weeping dramatically.

“How in the hell do you know one of those slimy things,” Grimmjow asked, crossing his arms, sounding much less perturbed than Ichigo liked. Also giving away that Ichigo was, in fact, lying to the man’s face, which Urahara had probably guessed, but at least it was unspoken up until that point. Ichigo scrubbed his face with his hands, feeling the weightless energy connecting his wrist to Grimmjow’s at the motion, before digging around for the pouch in his pocket, tossing it to a grinning shopkeeper.

“Excellent, I was quite dreading going and finding him. He can be…elusive.”

“Creepy,” Grimmjow offered up, arms still crossed, glaring at him. Urahara shrugged. 

“Not the best company, quite bad a poker, but good for getting hard to find items.”

Ichigo didn’t know what poker had to do with anything, but didn’t have the space to let it roll around in his head—White would probably poke at it a bit before getting bored and slice around in his not-so-latent repression of any and all emotions that were beginning to erupt. So they sat there, both men on the bed staring at the shopkeeper, who had taken the item out of the pouch. It was small, cylindrical. Urahara popped the cap off and twisted the bottom, pushing up an angled, deep red piece.

“We did all of that for a tube of lipstick?” Ichigo asked, wishing he could spit venom. “How is that a hard to find item? I could’ve just grabbed one of Yuzu’s.” He couldn’t’ve, because Yuzu would murder him with a ladel and a meat thermometer, but he could at least lie without protest. Urahara chucked and capped the lipstick, carefully sliding it back into the pouch. Ichigo had never wanted to draw on his Quincy abilities more in this moment, if only to play darts with the shopkeepers irritating face. 

“Yes well, Mr. Kurosaki I’ve already taken the liberty of calling your sisters to tell them you’ll be staying here the night. Tomorrow you’ll both be heading up to the Inari shrine in the mountains near here.”

Ichigo opened his mouth to speak, but Urahara raised up a hand, silencing his rude retort.

“You’ll be going in these bodies as well; the Kitsune prefers humans to spirits.”

“And what makes you think we’ll just go along with it, dickhead?” Grimmjow asked with a glare on his face. Urahara smiled, but his eyes were sharp.

“Unless of course, you’d like to be bound like that for the foreseeable future?”

Both men were silent then. Urahara opened his fan and chuckled once more before he left, calling out as he went through the doorway, “Get some rest you two! That link will work about three feet max, though you seem to not mind close quarters.” His voice faded as he kept walking, but they heard him loud and clear. As they did Yoruichi’s devilish cackle.

Ichigo put his free hand on his neck, and rolled it. This was going to be a long, long night.

…..

“Well you two look like you’ve had a fun night,” Yoruichi said at the two of them, as they sat at a table the maximum three feet away. Ichigo could feel his hair all spiked up and even more unruly than usual—Grimmjow’s bedhead was pretty much the same, and if it made Ichigo feel a little warm and tingly when looking at it, he’d never tell.

_I feel like I’m dying._

**You’re just tired, King.**

_No shit. Where’s Old man at? I want him to be my guide for a while._

**What’s the matter, didn’t’ like the dream? It seemed right up your alley.**

_I’m going to kill you._

**Good luck. Kiskue couldn’t even do that.**

Ignoring him, Ichigo looked to Urahara who was at the stove tinkering around with a kettle, Tessai, Jinta and Ururu nowhere to be seen, thankfully. Yoruichi was smiling at them from across the table, a cup in her hands, another was sat beside hers, probably Urahara’s. One had coffee and the other probably had vodka.

“He snores,” Ichigo whined, laying his head down on the table on his hands. The cuff strained against his skin, but he ignored it.

“You move too much.”

“I can’t help I don’t sleep like a corpse.”

“You kept pressin’ your ass in—”

“Start over I wasn’t listening!” Urahara said, as he sat down, placing a cup in front of Ichigo and Grimmjow. He was sans hat for once, blond hair ruffled and sticking up at odd angles. He practically fell in the chair and grabbed at the coffee cup—the one that hopefully had just coffee in it, anyway. One of the drunk was difficult enough.

“No,” Ichigo and Grimmjow said at the same time, growling at the man who drank his coffee with a doped out look on his face. He waved his hand absently and set his cup down. One hand reached under the table and Ichigo _swore_ if he was grabbing at his junk, he’d rip it off, but his hand came up with the Kappa’s pouch with the lipstick in it.

Yoruichi grabbed it from him and pulled it out, uncapping it and putting a dash of color on her own lips. Ichigo grimaced, it was a nice color for her, but now what? Urahara sighed and tried to grab the lipstick back.

“That’s for the Kitsune, she won’t want it if you sully it up.”

“She can get wrecked, my lips are pristine,” Yoruichi growled out. Ichigo quirked an eyebrow at her. Was she… _jealous…angry?_

_Maybe it’s because cats and canines don’t always get along?_

**You’ve obviously never met a Kitsune have you?**

_Oh what, and you have?_

**You forget I was a regular hollow once, King.**

_And now I have more questions and no answers. Shut up._

Urahara must’ve been under the same impression.

“That’s why I’m sending these two, with the binding kido. If one of them is affected by her magic, the other can drag them back by force if necessary.” Ichigo turned to Grimmjow; he looked kind of tired. Ichigo could relate, honestly. He didn’t get much sleep next to the man, and he wasn’t used to sharing a bed, especially with a half-homicidal, blue-haired ex-enemy who didn’t have any other choice. That and Grimmjow insisted on taking the spot facing the door, shoving Ichigo up against the wall uncomfortably. He’d woken up from a half-sleep with Grimmjow’s arm thrown across his body like a vice, holding him tightly to him, but…that was another thing to think about later. 

_I guess I could’ve slept on the floor, but that would’ve been hella uncomfortable._

“Tch. That fox is a damn coward. I could take her in a fight any day,” Yoruichi said, tossing the lipstick in the pouch and at Grimmjow. He caught it and stuffed it in his pocket without looking at it.

 _He probably just wants to get this over with as quickly as possible._ Ichigo felt the same…mostly. He didn’t dislike the arrancar as much as the thought he would’ve initially, but he was surprisingly tolerable when he calmed down, almost likeable even. Not that it stopped Ichigo from liking him when he _was_ being a dick and a half.

Ichigo sighed and grabbed the cup, and took a deep drink from it without looking, which, as he promptly spit it back into the cup, sputtering and wiping his face, learned was not a good idea.

“What the hell is this?”

“Hmmm? Oh, I boiled some Gatorade,” Urahara said as he shoved a map into Ichigo’s hands, ignoring the distraught look on his face. “Here you are; I’ve highlighted the best way to get you up to the mountain, if you follow it, and don’t stay long, you should be back by nightfall.” _Great,_ he thought, running his tongue across his teeth, feeling it coated with gross, hot, semi-sweetness with a sigh. _Just how I wanted to spend the rest of my weekend._

Ichigo looked at the map, opening it and turning it in his hands.

“It’s just a straight line.”

“Exactly.”

“Why would I need a map for that?”

“Because you have piss-pore directionality,” Grimmjow muttered, peering into his own mug and decidedly not drinking it, setting it down with a clink on the table. 

“I do not.”

….

Ichigo had piss pore directionality, apparently. If he was in his soul form he could just flash step there, but _noooooo_. This fox just had to like _humans_ better, whatever that meant. Not that Grimmjow was any better.

“It was a _straight_ line, a _straight line,_ Kurosaki. How could you screw that up?” Of course, he would blame the whole thing on Ichigo. Why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t like Grimmjow had actually tried to stay on course either, especially when a deer jumped by, racing through the forest with long, graceful motions; he thought he’d be chasing after Grimmjow, the way his body tensed and turned.

“Sorry, I didn’t know we should’ve brought a damn _chainsaw_ with us!” They had been padding up forgotten stairs, getting knocked in the face with decaying vines and branches galore. Ichigo swallowed a bug. It wasn’t a good time. Not to mention the weird fog setting in the higher they trudged up the dirt staircase, lined with tall, broken wooden beams.

His head was starting to feel weird.

Grimmjow growled.

“I don’t know what that is, but if would’ve helped, then _yes_ , you _should’ve,_ ” he seethed through clenched teeth. “We can’t do _shit_ in these bodies.” He held up this chained wrist, bringing Ichigo’s with it to a point, as if that was supposed to prove something. Ichigo drug his free hand across his face; by the end of this little field-trip, his face would be permanently drooping, he was sure. Glancing back up the worn path, he saw what he hoped was the top of the stairs.

 _Has this fog always smelled weird?_ Kind of like that cologne one of the shop-perverts doused the both of them in, but also…sweeter. Maybe even vanillia-y. But it was also mixed in with the smell of dirt, so, it wasn’t like, _that_ great.

Fighting up the last few feet of stairs, they finally stood underneath a red torii gate, ornate gold fox statures set on the base of each end.

“Alright we’re here, let’s get this shit over with.” 

Was Grimmjow’s voice always that low and growly? Ichigo shook his head, but the feeling remained unchanged. Blue hair was in front, back turned to him, almost yanking on his kido-ed wrist like a leash, dragging Ichigo along. He stumbled the next step, over something, a root perhaps, but couldn’t see for the fog surrounding his feet. Had it always been swirling around his feet like thick, cloudy water?

Were his feet wet?

Was he standing in water?

What time was it even, the sun wasn’t shining anymore.

Had it ever been?

His face hit something, hands went up to brace himself, landing on something slick and smooth. And dark. Grimmjow made a noise from in front of him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Something shifted on his face—Grimmjow’s back, he’d landed on his coat, the fur lined hood swiping at the top of his orange hair. It was kind of nice. Had he always smelled this good? He didn’t remember, and didn’t care, as he allowed his eyes to slip closed, resting his head harder onto the jacket.

“Well, hello there, boys,” a silky voice called out to them from the fog.

\------------------

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Grimmjow asked, as he felt Kurosaki fall into his back, hands gripping the side of his coat like he was afraid he’d fall. This was getting ridiculous.

First, they wasted most of the day back-peddling after the idiot got them lost in the forest because the _trees_ were in the way, of all things. It was a forest, Grimmjow figured that was the whole point, but _whatever_. He didn’t know much about the human world, but trusting this idiot with anything right now was a poor decision on his part that he’d own up to…privately.

The fog had been a pain to see through, especially since his vision was worse in the stupid fake human body Kiskue forced him into, but it was doable. But ever since the fog had thickened, Kurosaki had been acting…weird. Walking slower, gawking around, eyes wide but unseeing, sniffing the air…. He didn’t even notice when Grimmjow stopped, which is how he ended up burrowing his nose into Grimmjow’s coat, and inhaling.

He turned his head and looked, but he couldn’t see very well over the jacket’s furry hood.

“Well, hello there, boys,” a woman’s voice called out from the fog, somewhere to Grimmjow’s right.

Stepping out of a wall of dark, white fog, was a woman with a narrower face, sharp eyes, a pointed nose and long, long black hair, flowing around her like a waterfall of ink to where her thighs had to be. She was dressed in a deep, crimson kimono—Grimmjow guessed humans would consider her beautiful, but he didn’t really care, as Ichigo pressed his face deeper into his jacket, slowly stepping around his left side, where the cuff was buzzing between them. Pale, flawless skin, a dark ring drawn around each eye, making them sharper, and at least four tails, billowing behind her back like a cushiony, furred, pillow.

“What brings you to my territory?” she purred out, stepping closer to them, eyes set on the ginger currently trying to burrow into his side. He slung his arm around the Shinigami protectively, not liking the gleam in her knifelike gaze, and didn’t move, even as Ichigo tugged at the zipper on his jacket, unzipping it.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the woman. The crown of Kurosaki’s orange head brushed up against his chin as he grumbled something unintelligible. He saw the fox-woman frown. Grimmjow rubbed a finger against one temple, _I’ll deal with you later, you idiot,_ he thought, looking at Kurosaki.

“We got something you want.” He growled it more than he said it, looking back towards the fox, and he felt Kurosaki shiver against him. Was he cold? Sure it wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold enough to be shivering—he was wearing a jacket too. He rolled his eyes as the dumbass Shinigami pulled his jacket open and pressed against him, arms circling around him, under his arms— _this is not the best time, kid._ Why couldn’t he have been this forward last night, instead of pinching Grimmjow’s hand every time?

“Yes, you do,” she said, voice airy and light, but laced with dark undertones. It reminded him a little of Aizen’s voice, but she was prettier. Taking another couple steps closer, raising up a clawed finger towards Kurosaki’s back, Grimmjow snapped his teeth at her, and gripped him closer, earning a pleased sigh pushing across his chest below him.

The woman’s gaze narrowed as she let out a small, feral growl, showing off a mouth full of sharped, canine teeth. “The sunset boy, why is _my_ fog drawing him to _you_?”

 _So that’s what’s wrong with him, huh?_ _Figures he wouldn’t do what he was supposed to._ That an it was the second time a weird creature compared him to something akin to sunshine. Grimmjow may agree, but damned if he’d ever admit it.

The fox woman got no closer, but did not back up. Her lips were pale, almost silver, skin so white it looked painful.

“Dunno lady, but you couldn’t have’em anyway,” Grimmjow said, holding up his cuffed wrist, hoping that would get some kind of reaction from her. He wasn’t disappointed. Her lips curled back into a sneer as she emitted a low hiss, eyes narrowing to slits.

“Damn him. You are from Urahara Kiskue,” she said, straightening up, tails curling around the bottom of her kimono like smoke.

 _How the hell does he know all these things,_ Grimmjow thought. Something warm pressed up against the bare skin of his lower abdomen, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, gathering himself and his self-control.

“ _What the hell are you doing,”_ he hissed down at Kurosaki quietly. The orange head looked up at him, eyes cloudy and glazed over, a dopey grin spread on his face. Grimmjow had never seen him drunk, but he figured he’d look a lot like this. _Never pegged him for the handsy type._

“Hands are cold,” Kurosaki said, pressing his face into Grimmjow’s thin shirt. The kid was burning up, but whatever; him lying about it was the least of his worries right now, as he felt another hand join the first, rubbing the sensitive skin of his stomach. He hated it, or rather the burning heat he was feeling as long fingers trailed along his skin.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just, stop for a second, it’s distracting.” Grimmjow said, shaking the binding and Kurosaki’s wrist, trying to knock him out of his horny little stupor. He heard the woman growl in front of him, but ignored it for now, watching as Kurosaki muttered something against his chest. Grimmjow sighed.

“If you can’t be helpful, at least be quiet,” he said against orange hair, and turned his gaze back to the woman, who looked more animalistic now—crouching lower, kimono wrapping around her arms and legs like a second set of fur. Her face was elongated, hands more paw-like with long, ivory claws poking out of billowing sleeves.

Grimmjow slipped a hand in his pocket, searching for the slimeball’s gross pouch before tossing into the air, catching it in an open palm. He dangled in on his finger by one of the loops tightening it. The fox’s eyes went wide and it gasped lightly. 

“Need this?”

Her eyes widened even more, wider than what was probably normal for something that wasn’t actually a spirit in human skin. He didn’t know what was so special about something that would make someone’s lips turn another color temporarily, especially since Shihouin slapped some on her face earlier, but whatever. _I could probably put it on this idiot right now and he wouldn’t bat an eye._

“Where did you—”

“None of yer business, fox. Want it?”

It was definitely a thought to consider, but he needed to get out of here before Kurosaki decided his next step to warm his hands was to shove them down Grimmjow’s pants. He’d calmed down a little, fingers now on the outside of his shirt, fisting and un-fisting into tight, white-knuckled balls, like he was holding something back. _Maybe the fog is wearing off._

“Yes,” she hissed out, a clawed paw reaching out towards them, eyes slitted and narrow, lips curled back to show off her teeth, which were sharper now, longer, if that was even possible. 

“Then trade for it,” Grimmjow commanded, eyes hard on her form. 

The woman shifted completely, kimono red bleeding into the ground and pooling away from her as she shifted fulling into a four-tailed fox, long, white body with red-tipped tails. She bounded off into the fog and Grimmjow was left in silence, save for Kurosaki’s panting into his chest.

 _And maybe not,_ he thought as the hands began to roam over his chest. 

_Boundaries,_ Grimmjow thought. _Kurosaki isn’t right in the head._ Still, that didn’t stop the shiver he barely contained when he scratched a long line down his back with blunt nails.

“Stop,” Grimmjow growled out, catching Kurosaki by his wrists and dragging them up where he could plainly see them. Amber eyes looked up to him, half lidded, still clouded over with something, flecks of gold and yellow, rimmed in a burnt-ashy brown, and he huffed. His lips were red and a little swollen, like he’d chewed them while he’d been groping Grimmjow.

“Why?” His voice was breathy and just as unfocused as his eyes looked, but when he _smiled_ , up at Grimmjow, he clenched his jaw shut to keep it from dropping open. He’d never smiled at him like _that_ before, not that warm, golden ray that he reserved for his human friends.

“Gonna kiss me again,” he slurred, lazy, lowering his chin until it rested on Grimmjow’s chest, angular cheekbones seemed softer in the dying light. And Grimmjow really, really wanted to at the sight. But this wasn’t Kurosaki. Kurosaki wasn’t soft with him, and he wasn’t soft back. That was the deal they’d struck somehow, without ever speaking, so he wasn’t going to break it now just because he was half out of his mind with magic fox mist making him hornier than hell. 

Grimmjow broke out of his thoughts when rustling happened around them, all around them, like he was being surrounded by thousands of foxes, instead of just the one. Kiskue had let on there was only one, but you could never tell with that maniac. _Good thing he’s not an enemy…usually._

The woman appeared again, red kimono dripping off thin, feminine shoulders, narrow and unblemished. Kurosaki frowned as he twisted around under Grimmjow’s grip— _when did his hold on the kid get so tight—_ until he was facing the fox woman. She smiled at him, attention all on Kurosaki and held out a hand. The Shinigami cocked his head to the side and pressed his back into Grimmjow’s chest.

“Here,” she said voice sweet again, holding a small, glass vial to him. It contained something swirling inside, blue and green all mixing together.

“Toss it, or you’re not getting this,” Grimmjow said, holding up the pouch.

The woman growled at him again, before tossing it straight at Grimmjow’s head, who caught it without much effort. Holding it closer to his face, it looked like wet flames, circling around itself in the jar. Kurosaki raised up and hand and grabbed it from Grimmjow’s fingers.

“If you drop that, I’m breaking every bone in your dumb human body.”

“Looking forward to it,” Kurosaki said, palming it in his hand. His fingers were long, but Grimmjow could see small scars across his knuckles. 

“I’m waiting, humans.” Her tails were stiff and bushed out, _agitated,_ Grimmjow thought, as he tossed the pouch with the weird, color tube in it with a growl. The woman-fox caught it and took it out of its pouch, examining it.

Grimmjow tugged at the body in front of him, a hand around each bicep, making him take a step back as he did. The fox was busy applying the stuff to her lips to notice too much. That, or she was willingly letting them go. Whichever, Grimmjow wanted off the damn mountain as quickly as possible.

“Come on, _sunshine_ ,” he said, spitting out the kappa’s nickname right in Kurosaki’s ear, “Let’s get you off this mountain before you do something you’ll regret.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yay another chapter! I'd say this one is a little more serious and maybe it is, maybe it isn't lol.
> 
> The Gatorade line is from The Office.  
> I apologize if you like macramé--it's so haaaarrrd, I can paint and quilt and some other stuff, but macramé? Minus well be rocket science. I love it; it's gorgeous, but I can't do it worth a damn. 
> 
> Someday, I'm going to see how many of those dumb one-liners I can slip into a story and still make it somewhat in character.  
> Feedback is always welcome!! :) Hope you enjoyed reading my silly story, I know most of mine are pretty similar, but hey, sometimes you want 15 of the same cake, right? ;)


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